I Lick My Cheese
by Cactusgirlie
Summary: Reela: Living together again. 1st chapter Ray POV on living arrangements. 2nd chapter Reela fluff. Possible 3rd Chapter Reela smut. Rated T and maybe M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**I Lick My Cheese**

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own ER or the Roomies. I also have absolutely no claim to the book which inspired this fic; "I Lick My Cheese and Other Notes" which was produced by Oonagh O'Hagan. If you have or have ever had a difficult flatmate then I suggest you read it. And then maybe leave it on the coffee table as a hint!

Set Post-Shifting Equilibrium. Reela. Two-shot rated T for language and mild sexual references but if I do decide to write a third chapter then I might add some good ol' smut.

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Ray POV

You'd think that after two years in Baton Rouge I'd be used to the warm weather but today the heat just feels oppressive and the cotton of my sleeveless T-shirt keeps sticking to the hollow at the small of my back. I'm in the middle of some heavy lifting and the manual labour isn't adding to my comfort any.

Neela moved into my apartment three month's ago. We were taking things slowly at first, and although I'd wanted to barricade her into my apartment and never let her leave, I stayed silent when she told me that she'd taken a short term lease on a nearby studio flat. She'd wanted a little bit of her own space whilst she settled into her new job and really, who am I to do anything but support her? As it turned out I needn't have been so disappointed. The reality of the situation was that she ended up spending most her free time at mine; in various states of undress I hasten to add; and before she was even half way through her six month let, she'd migrated the majority of her stuff over to mine. For the past three months this little studio has just been a dumping ground of sorts but with the lease nearly up I'd decided to surprise Neela by moving everything in properly. I've also thrown away a lot of my junk and have picked some paint from a colour chart she was looking at last week. I want this apartment to feel like ours instead of mine.

I really don't understand why she has so much stuff. She must be one of those secret hoarders who never throw anything away on the off-chance that it might 'come in handy one day'. I don't remember her having so much stuff in our old apartment but knowing Neela's mad organisational skills I'd bet my guitar it was all carefully hidden away. I think my suspicions are confirmed when I come across a box full of out of date magazines and a tin containing dozens of little complimentary hotel bits and bobs. Washcloths, soaps, mini sewing kits and even sachets of really bad instant coffee. I make a mental note to bring this up with her when she gets back from her weekend away. If she's going to nag at me to keep the apartment in a half decent state then I'm gonna play the 'boxes of crap' card.

Satisfied that most of the boxes left in the apartment contain junk that Neela will have to rifle through herself; I manage to cart the last remaining crate to my SUV. It's full of books and my arms ache but the lift is working and I'm eager to get back to the car where I can put the radio and air conditioning up full blast. I love driving in Baton Rouge. Out here it's something that I do for entertainment. Ostensibly, it's because it's much more relaxing then driving around in the middle of Chicago but I think that deep down I love it because after my accident I didn't think that I'd ever have this independence again. Maybe when we're both able to get time off work I can take Neela on a road trip. I remember asking if she'd ever been on a road trip after we watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and she decided this was a question worthy of near hysterics.

"I once got stuck in a traffic jam when I was travelling from Devon to Birmingham on a Bank Holiday weekend, that was about nine hours" she'd snorted. "Seriously Ray, there's nowhere in England, Scotland or Wales that you can't reach within a day!"

By the time I arrive back at our apartment I've thought of loads of things we could go and see on a trip. I have a special route in my mind of places I think she'd like to visit. I love to surprise Neela with strange gifts. She's not really a jewellery or Champagne and Strawberries type of girl so I have fun putting together 'out there' surprises that confuse her before she rolls her eyes and flashes me her perfect grin. We have a routine now. She tells me that I spoil her and I wink at her and tell her that I never much liked good girls anyway. Sometimes just to be nostalgic; and maybe to keep her on her toes; I bring out the old "Anything for my Roomie line". I'm an old romantic fool really.

Neela calls not long after I arrive back, she's visiting Abby and Luka in Boston and she sounds like she's having a good time catching up. We chat for while and she tells me she'll be staying an extra two days. Abby needs some help with Joe whilst Luka is out of town and anyway, she's enjoying bonding with Joe. I warn her that leaving me alone for an extra few days might mean there's not much of an apartment left to come back to. To throw her off the 'redecorating' scent I tell her the living room already looks like a disaster area. I miss her when she hangs up but pull myself together. I've now got an extra weekend to make these rooms home.

The following day after my shift, I grab some beers and sit down to the mammoth task of unpacking Neela's books. I know that much as she loves the written words, what she really loves is the weight of a book in her hand, the smell of the paper and the feel of the bindings. She has a passion for second hand books and buys just about anything if the cover or subject mater intrigues her.

One of her weird English quirks is to keep a selection of short stories, poetry, and funny travel books on a shelf in the bathroom. She insists it shows off a sense of humour. I insist that it weirds people out. "Big deal Ray, people read in the loo. It's a good use of time. Maybe you should try?"

Digging through all the books, I find one that makes me laugh out loud.

'I Lick My Cheese and Other Notes: from the Frontline of Flatsharing'

It's a big hardback book filled with notes and post-its that people have left for less than desirable roomies. Abby gave it to Neela when she first moved in with me back in Chicago and after a while it became our Roomie Bible. It became a bit of a running joke and for months we'd compete to leave the most silly or elaborate notes. I think that's when I started to see another side of Neela. I'd known she was smart and witty but I hadn't known that she could be so silly at the same time.

I flick through the book and suddenly I know what I need to do to make this place home.

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A/N: I actually know where I'm going with this fic which makes a nice change! Second chapter hasn't been written yet but has been plotted.


	2. Chapter 2

I Lick My Cheese

Disclaimer:

I don't own ER or the Roomies. I also have absolutely no claim to the book which inspired this fic; "I Lick My Cheese and Other Notes" which was produced by Oonagh O'Hagan. If you have or have ever had a difficult flatmate then I suggest you read it. And then maybe leave it on the coffee table as a hint!

I will do a third chapter but it may take a while, sorry but I hope you enjoy this in the meantime.

Chapter 2: Surprise

Neela POV

I hate flying and I've long since given up trying to look calm and comfortable in the departures lounge. If I'm going to become a neurotic mess before take off then I may as well show my fellow passengers what they'll be in for if they end up in the seat next to mine. I think that a few stiff drinks might be the way to go because I'll be taking a taxi when I land anyway. I make my way to the lounge, ignore the lecherous glance from a hung-over business type and order a whisky and water from the bartender. After finishing my drink I contemplate having another but the whisky's not that great and the letch has tried a few times to strike up a conversation. Impending flight excepted, I'm in a really good mood and telling Mr Sweat Patches where to get off will end up pissing me off as well as making a scene.

Several hours later I climb into my pre-ordered taxi and settle down to watch the scenery rushing past the windows. I'm surprised that I feel so at home here in Louisiana. It's not really the sort of place I ever imagined living, mainly because it's so at odds with where I grew up but it's friendly enough and after initially finding everything a bit of a novelty I've actually settled in pretty well.

As the taxi draws up in front of mine and Ray's apartment I feel a familiar knot building in my stomach as I pay my fare. If there's one thing that can strike fear into a Brit in America, it's tipping. Seriously, even though I've been living here for the best part of 10 years I still haven't learnt to tip without becoming very uncomfortable. My voice always wavers and I blush and avoid eye contact. Still, I'm not as bad at it as my parents are. I've seen my Mum tip a very disappointed American taxi driver with 5 Euros, some loose fluff and a button.

I can't wait to get into the apartment, I know Ray's at the hospital so I'll have the place to myself. I want a nice long shower first, then I'm planning on slobbing out in front of the telly with some of my favourite comfort food. I can already picture the beans on toast; made with the type of white bread that contains so many additives it never seems to go off. I have a reputation as someone who can leave the junk food alone but I have little willpower when it comes to my childhood favourites. All I need is a nice cup of tea to top it off and I'll be in a Neela happy bubble for the rest of the day.

I fiddle about with the Yale lock on the door for a while. It amazes even me that I can perform intricate surgeries but often struggle with the simple mechanics of a lock and key. I end up wiggling the key in the lock and push hard against the door with one shoulder. The door finally opens and I stumble in the doorway.

Oh shit! This isn't our flat. It looks nothing like our flat. My travel weary brain can't quite work this out so I check the number on the door. Right number, right building and there's an envelope taped resting on the coffee table with that's been messily addressed to me in green felt tip.

'Remember this?' Is scrawled messily in Ray's chicken scratch.

"Well Ray, how could I forget"


End file.
